


Warm-Blooded Creature

by Dr_Chalk



Category: One Piece
Genre: Character Study, Gen, I will personally stick Judge's head into viscous sewage, Introspection, Sanji Is Not A Vinsmoke, Vinsmoke Sanji-centric, every fiber of my body is screaming at me not to tag him as vinsmoke sanji but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 23:16:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19305847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Chalk/pseuds/Dr_Chalk
Summary: He had never heard a single “I love you” ever since his mother passed away.





	Warm-Blooded Creature

“I love you” was a phrase his mother dished out to him so effortlessly, as if the words came to her as easy as breathing. Sanji basked in the luxury of being able to hear those words, to let them wash over him like sweet honey as golden as his mother’s hair. And, because Sanji thought of her as the dearest in the world, he could repeat those words back to her with habitual fluidity. He would tell her “I love you,” and she would bring him into her arms with an expression that seemed to forecast waterworks in the immediate future. She would call him the kindest kid in the world and compliment his cooking, while Sanji felt himself grow content in the warmth of her embrace, the comforting heat of her skin. Warmth was a sign of her life, her breath, her love; and thus, his happiness.

He had never heard a single “I love you” ever since his mother passed away.

His brothers lived and breathed like any other creature, and yet every time their fists collided into his flesh, he couldn't help but think that their skin felt as cold as the metallic bats they sometimes preferred to use. With their genetically enhanced bodies and iron skin, Sanji couldn't help but wonder if they were more machine than human, sometimes. Maybe Reiju was warmer, maybe Reiju’s hands didn’t feel as icy as his brothers’, but even she failed to provide the heat that mother did; she failed to say “I love you.”

Did she love him? He didn't know. Maybe wrapping bandages around his battered body with lukewarm hands was her own awkward way of conveying what could not be said; and so, Sanji let her, despite the fact that the far from professional medical skills of Reiju (because she was still a child too, even if she seemed and felt so much bigger) did little to soothe the injuries. He thought about telling her that he loved her, but Reiju probably would not have appreciated it. She would probably wear that baffled expression of hers before quickly proceeding to tell him to be quiet, to not say such a thing. And besides, he couldn't really tell if he loved her anyways.

 

* * *

 

When he finally escaped only to be tossed onto a dry, lifeless rock, Sanji had refused to die. It was as simple as that. He was stuck with a selfish man who had hoarded nearly all of the food for himself, hiding behind the excuse of age and size. And so, out of sheer spite and stubbornness, Sanji decided to outlive him. To concede now would mean that his escape would become meaningless. To concede now would mean resigning himself to never hearing an “I love you” ever again. He wanted to feel warm, because the sun may have been scorching on the rock during daytime but it was nothing like the warmth of steady heartbeats and life. He would live longer than the old man who had condemned him.

It was only after over what seemed like an eternity on the rock that Sanji finally discovered that the old man hadn’t condemned him at all. On the contrary, he had saved Sanji from drowning and, to take it a step further, had given him all of the available food. It wasn’t out of love, and they both had been drained of life, but as Sanji clutched the boney body of the old geezer he could have sworn that there was warmth there.

Sanji begged the old geezer to survive, begged him to listen, to live.

He did.

Sanji wondered if the old geezer was warmer than he had been before, if he was warmer than the body made of thin skin and sharp angles that had teetered between death and life; and sometimes, despite the fact that his old man was a crap geezer, Sanji was struck with the irrational urge to hug him just to confirm that the warmth was there. But of course, physical affection was neither of their fortes, and of course Sanji wasn’t going to risk hugging him only to receive a peg leg to the head with the bonus dish of mocking laughter from the Baratie staff. No, he wasn’t going to hug the crap geezer. It would be awkward as all hell and the consequences just weren’t worth it.

It didn’t stop him from wondering if his old man would ever tell him “I love you.”

Years later, when Sanji finally took his leap of faith and decided to leave the restaurant behind, Sanji realized that he and the old geezer had never been explicit in their feelings, had never been direct about their affections. They both knew it was there, of course, but refused to address it. And Sanji thought that it was okay, it really was, because despite the fact that they both had never voiced anything to one another he knew for sure that he considered Zeff important, and Zeff would know this, he had never hugged Zeff but he knew that if he did then Zeff would radiate warmth— 

“Don’t catch a cold,” Zeff said.

Maybe he would never get an “I love you” from Zeff, but maybe this was close enough.

Sanji burst into tears. He felt warmer than he had in ages.

 

* * *

 

When the Germa took him back into their below freezing castles, he knew his limbs may snap off at any instant from the biting chill crawling up his flesh. There was no source of warmth anywhere: not from his brutish siblings and their iron skin, not from his damned bastard of a father. Reiju was still an enigma— her hands still felt lukewarm and lacking in a definite conclusion. Maybe his darling fiance would give him the warmth he lacked, because she was the only light he could see in miles and his other source of warmth he had kicked and bloodied and personally made sure would never, ever return to him again. It was for their own good. It was okay, he would still be able to feel warm. He had his darling Pudding, his sweet princess who had declared with teary eyes that she would not let their marriage be hell for Sanji. And of course, Sanji had pulled her into his arms in answer like any gentleman would. In hindsight, he really should have figured out that Pudding’s tears were anything but genuine.

When he hugged her, Pudding had felt cold.

She was cold to the point of freezing, and he told Reiju everything, how Pudding was nothing but cold, cold,  _ cold,  _ and Sanji was frozen, frozen so solidly that he could not possibly escape. It was at that moment Reiju ceased to be an enigma; from her lukewarm body came an unexpected burst of warmth, finally escaping after being contained for too long, so long— and maybe, he should have expected that too, because he finally remembered it: the way her tears had been hot enough to scald and leave raw burns when she pushed him away into the blue beyond. It had been enough to make him run then, it was enough to thaw him now. His legs no longer felt frozen to the spot. The cold of the metal around his wrists felt far less deadly, he could breathe, he could breathe, he could breathe. Though his breaths came erratically and choppy, he could breathe, and so with shortness of breath he ran with newly thawed legs. He ran to him, because how much of a fool had he been, thinking that he could ever chase his captain away? His captain, selfish and stubborn and  _ amazing _ in only the most perfectly imperfect ways, was waiting for him, waiting with so much warmth in his bubbly laughter and twinkling eyes. In the end, it all came back to him. It all came back to Luffy. His miracle-working captain waiting to give Sanji all the warmth and life and love he could possibly want.

And Sanji didn’t deserve that, now did he.

The thought wiped the smile right off of his face.

Three reasons he could not return to the crew, among them the irrational wish to save his biological family, his biological family who had given him nothing but layers of frost and bruises blooming over his skin. It was so horribly irrational that the crew could possibly not hope to follow Sanji through with it. But it was okay. Sanji didn’t have to go back. Sanji could stay here. He was okay with it. Sanji was okay with this.

As usual, Luffy saw through his own lie first, and shattered it into unrecognizable fragments with a blow to the face.

His captain commanded him— no, his  _ friend _ told him, to tell the truth.

The truth? The truth was that he ached to be home with every part of his cold body. He wanted to bicker childishly with Zoro with no real bite in their jabs. He wanted to pamper and praise Nami just as she always deserved. He wanted to joke with Usopp and have mindless fun. He wanted to feed Chopper sweets to see the joy in his big round eyes. He wanted to give Robin evening tea to help her relax after a long day. He wanted to let Franky upgrade the kitchen and chat on and on about new features. He wanted to listen to Brook’s calming tunes and maybe even dance with him too. He wanted to go home to the Sunny, because this place he was at was not home. This place, composed of cold castles that would choke him alive and artificial smiles painted onto disgustingly sugary melodies, would never become his home. And he could escape it all if he could just work up the nerve, the courage to abandon the people he should have learned to hate so viscerally from the bottom of his heart; and yet, he could not bring himself to do so. Sanji was an idiot. Sanji was a fool. Sanji was a bleeding heart. Sanji was a failure. 

And yet, when Luffy smiled down at him as if all of that was alright, Sanji could not help but believe that maybe, that was okay.

It was really, genuinely okay.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” Luffy said with all the confidence and none of the doubt, a wonderfully toothy grin splitting across his face.

It wasn’t an “I love you,” but it all rang the same, laced with his captain’s unconditional acceptance. Sanji looked to the empty picnic basket, recalling the way Luffy had scarfed down ruined food that others would not dare to touch: all because it was from Sanji’s hands, just the way Luffy liked. Somewhere in the back of his head, he remembered his mother praising his disgusting, crushed food, smiling as if Sanji had presented her with a meal that even a royal such as herself could only dream of. The clouds began to part, and the sunlight on his skin felt so achingly warm. 

Maybe he would never hear another “I love you” again.

But maybe, he would hear things that were close enough.

Maybe that was perfectly okay.

  
  
  



End file.
